Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “You don’t know that, Connie,” Malcolm said, “but the truth will come out. You’ll get all the answers.”

  “I think the next order of business is for me to interview Hackworth,” Frank declared. “I need to know who our witnesses are.”

  “Frank, if I may,” Malcolm began diplomatically, “why don’t you let me question him? I’ve already got him talking, and he might be hesitant speaking to a stranger, especially a detective.”

  “Hmm, you might be right. Find out what you can. I’ll have my shot when I take him into custody.”

  “I want to come with you,” Connie said vehemently. “I need to ask him questions too.”

  “It’s probably best if I do this alone. Edith, why don’t you take everyone on a tour of the house and front gardens. By the time you get back I should be finished with Hackworth and had a chance to change my clothes.”

  “After visiting you so many times a tour would be most welcome,” Edward said, looking at Edith intently. “In fact, I’d say it’s rather overdue.”

  “Good, that’s settled,” Malcolm declared, placing his cup on the side table and rising to his feet, “and I’d be most honored if you would all join Connie and me for dinner to celebrate our wedding.”

  “Absolutely,” Edith said enthusiastically. “Let’s hold it in the main house. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “That sounds excellent, but check with Mrs. Henderson. I believe she already has something special planned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to see Hackworth. I think I’ll take him some sandwiches and cakes. I’m sure he’s ravenous.”

  “Why would you be kind to that awful man?” Connie protested. “Let him starve.”

  “There’s a method to my madness,” he said with a wink, and piling a plate with the delicious treats, he marched from the room.

  * * *

  Not wanting to argue with him in front of the others, but far from satisfied, Connie held her tongue as Malcolm left the room. But she needed to follow him. She was determined to question Hackworth herself.

  “It’s so nice outside,” Edith began. “If everyone has finished with their tea we can start in the gardens. There’s a remarkable hothouse. Mr. Henderson, our head gardener, has created his very own rose.”

  “Actually, I’m suddenly feeling a bit tired,” Connie said wearily, wiping her hand over her brow. “Would you mind dreadfully if I excused myself? It’s been a wonderful day, but I never expected to stumble across Hackworth sleeping in a ditch on the way back to the house. It was rather stressful.”

  “So that’s where he was!” Edward exclaimed. “I kept meaning to ask but we had so many other things to talk about we never got around to it.”

  “It was quite remarkable to find him there. I can tell you more about it at dinner. What time do you want us, Edith?”

  “Shall we say seven o’clock?”

  “Perfect. It was very nice to meet you Edward, and Frank, I’m so grateful. Thank you for bringing me such wonderful news.”

  “My pleasure,” Frank said with a nod. “I’m just sorry we couldn’t find you sooner.”

  “I am too. I wish I hadn’t been so good at hiding. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you all later.”

  Walking calmly to the door, she closed it behind her, then quickened her pace. She was sure Malcolm would have put Hackworth in the secret room. Almost running, and cursing herself for not getting out of the drawing room faster, she reached the hall where she needed to turn, then paused to peer around the corner. Though Malcolm was nowhere to be seen, the plate of sandwiches and cakes sat on a hall table.

  She grinned.

  A plan immediately came to mind.

  * * *

  When Malcolm had entered the hidden chamber, he’d found Hackworth stretched on the floor, the bottle of brandy half empty in his hand. Marching across the room, Malcolm landed a swift kick in the thug’s ribs. Letting out a wail, he curled into a ball and stared up at him.

  “What the blazes did you do that for?”

  “I have a list so long I wouldn’t know where to start,” Malcolm growled. “Sit up.”

  As Hackworth held his side and struggled to an upright position, Malcolm lit two more lamps.

  “Now I can see you properly,” Malcolm said brusquely. “Tell me your first name.”

  “Alan.”

  “Here you are, Alan,” Malcolm said, tossing him a cake.

  Though Hackworth picked it up, he eyed it suspiciously.

  “Is it poisoned?”

  “Why would I poison you, Alan?”

  “Like you said, you’ve got a list.”

  “Indeed I do, but you don’t have to worry. That cake won’t kill you or make you sick.”

  “If it’s not poisoned, why are you giving it to me?”

  “It’s a sample of what you’ll get if you cooperate,” Malcolm replied, wondering if the man had found Dutch courage from the brandy. “I have a plate of sandwiches and sweets outside the door.”

  “If you want anything from me, it will cost you more than fancy sandwiches and cakes so small they’re gone in one bite,” Hackworth retorted, popping the morsel in his mouth.

  Studying the deep frown crossing the thug’s heavily lined face, Malcolm could read his mind. He had information Malcolm wanted, and intended to get as much for it as he possibly could.

  “I could always return to the woods and pick up a few creatures to keep you company,” Malcolm suggested. “Maybe some rats? Would you prefer that to a plate of food?”

  Hackworth snorted, but Malcolm sensed his confidence was wavering.

  “But that’s a lot of trouble,” Malcolm muttered with a scowl, “and I’m not in a patient mood.”

  With lightning speed he crossed the space between them, landed a mighty, open-handed slap across the thug’s face, then grabbing his shirt with both hands, he jerked him to his feet and shoved him against the wall.

  “Ow, my ribs...”

  “I don’t know what happened while I was gone,” Malcolm snarled, his face an inch away from Hackworth’s, “but if you’re not going to talk, I’ll fetch my gun and blow your stinking head off right now.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Ooh, please, my ribs.”

  “I’m happy to crack a couple more for encouragement.”

  “Why are you being so rough? I, uh, I thought you were a gentleman, sir.”

  “You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of. You’re going to tell me what I want to know, and tell me now, or you’ll find out.”

  “Yes, sir, yes.”

  Dropping him on the floor and looming over him, Malcolm picked up the bottle of brandy, strode across the room, grabbed a chair, carried it back and sat down.

  “We’ll start with the night of the murder,” he said curtly, taking a drink directly from the bottle. “Who were the witnesses, and how did you scare them off? Oh, and by the way, I know all about Detective Poole.”

  “But, uh, how?”

  “Don’t test my patience, Alan!”

  “Sorry. The witnesses. There was Kendrick, the neighbor’s butler. When he heard the screams he looked out his window. He saw Mountbatten run out, get the shovel, go back in the house, then run out again. He didn’t know it was Mountbatten though. He described a tall, well-dressed man. Poole had given me a detective’s badge. I told Kendrick if he told anyone that story I’d have him and his head housekeeper arrested for thieving.”

  “Why the head housekeeper?”

  “Butlers and head housekeepers in the big houses are usually close friends. They have to be.”

  “Who else?” Malcolm pressed, pulling a pen and paper from his pocket.

  “The most important,” Hackworth began, “was, uh...”

  “Don’t stop now, Alan.”

  “The Cliffords’ butler,” he said with a resigned sigh. “When he saw Connie right after Mountbatten ran off, she had nothing in her hands and wasn’t near her parents. He also saw the French doors were open.”

&nbs
p; Doing his best to control his fury, Malcolm focused on taking careful notes as Hackworth went through the rest of the servants at the Clifford home, and what they’d heard and seen.

  “That’s everyone I can think of,” he said, rubbing his side. “How long are you going to keep me here?”

  “As long as it takes,” Malcolm replied, standing up and moving toward him.

  Hackworth grunted.

  “Alan, be grateful I just sissy slapped you,” Malcolm growled, crouching down and staring at him intently. “The only reason I didn’t punch you in the nose is because I don’t want blood on my furniture. I’ll get your finger food, then you’re going to do something for me. Now turn around and don’t look back. If you do, I might not care about that chaise lounge after all.”

  Not taking his eyes off him, Malcolm straightened up and moved toward the wall. The lever to open the panel was low to the ground and barely visible. Reaching down, he gave it a tug and the panel slid open. Quickly slipping into the hall, he darted his eyes to the plate of finger food and picked it up.

  “Sorry, Malcolm.”

  Spinning around, he was mortified to see Connie slip past him and enter the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Though she heard Malcolm behind her, Connie’s attention was on the rumpled man who had been one of those responsible for her endless weeks of misery. He was kneeling, his shoulders slumped, facing the chaise lounge. It was clear he posed no threat, and any fear she’d initially felt quickly evaporated. Expecting Malcolm to drag her back into the hallway she started forward, but she was too late. His fingers wrapped around her arm. She caught her breath, but then heard the panel close behind her.

  “What the blazes are you doing here?” he whispered, his lips against her ear.

  “I’m sorry, Malcolm, but I have questions,” she replied softly, “and I must hear the answers for myself.”

  “You should have discussed this with me first.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, turning her head and meeting his gaze, “but I couldn’t take the chance you’d refuse me.”

  “I could still refuse you.”

  “But you won’t, not now that I’m here.”

  The lamps provided plenty of light, and she could read his expression. He was angry with her, but a flicker of understanding crossed his eyes.

  “We’ll discuss this later, but no, I won’t,” he said, releasing her arm. “Sit in the chair and ask what you need to.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured with a grateful smile, then moved quickly forward and sat down.

  “Alan, your sandwiches and cakes will have to wait,” Malcolm said tersely. “You have a visitor. Stay on your knees as you turn around, then sit on the floor.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything,” Hackworth grunted as he began to move.

  “Hello, Mr. Hackworth,” Connie managed, controlling the acute desire to pummel her fists across his face and body.

  “You...?” he muttered, his face scrunching in disbelief.

  “Yes, me. Do you have a wife?”

  “What kind of—?”

  “Answer her,” Malcolm barked.

  “Yeah, I’ve gotta wife.”

  “Children?”

  “A son. He’s ten.”

  Connie paused, then took a long breath.

  “You know you’re going to prison, Mr. Hackworth, and probably for a long time.”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “How will they manage?”

  “I, uh...”

  “They’ll probably end up in the workhouse, or worse.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” he exclaimed, then letting out a heavy sigh, he mumbled, “Sorry. Everything I did was for them.”

  “You helped cover up my parents’ murder and stole my life away to provide for them?”

  “I didn’t know all that stuff would happen,” he exclaimed, his face contorting into a fearsome scowl. “How was I to know Mountbatten would go off his head like he did? I’m many things, but I’m no killer.”

  “Mr. Hackworth, listen to me carefully,” Connie said, wishing she could rail at him and tell him she hoped he’d burn in hell. “If you answer my questions I’ll see to it your family is taken care of.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “What do you mean, taken care of?”

  “They’ll have a decent roof over their heads, clothes to wear, food on the table, and your son will be educated. When he’s able to provide for his mother and himself, I’ll make sure he has a fund set up so they’ll have a cushion.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I need to know why my parents were killed, and I believe you have the answer. Besides that, I see no reason an innocent woman and child should fall into a horrible life because of your sins. In a way, they’ve become your victims as well.”

  “This is all because of Poole,” Hackworth growled. “He’s the one who’s done this to me and my family.”

  “Detective Poole?” Malcolm interjected. “Explain.”

  “How do I know you’ll do what you say?”

  “I give you my word, and let’s face it, my offer is the best shot you have of knowing your wife won’t be forced into selling herself to feed her child... before they both end up in the workhouse.” Pausing to let her statement sink in, she added, “Mr. Hackworth, I don’t have all day. Shall I have Mr. Mead pummel the information out of you, or will you answer my questions and take care of your family?”

  “I want to take care of my family,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Go ahead. Ask me whatever you want.”

  “My uncle. Why did he not come to my defense? Was it greed or fear?”

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Of course I want to know!”

  “It wasn’t either of those things.”

  “Then what was it,” she shouted, running out of patience. “For pity’s sake, tell me!”

  “Your uncle and Mountbatten, they’re, uh, close. Real close. They’re all the same. That boy Roger Witherspoon, your uncle, Mountbatten, and Detective Poole. Thick as thieves, they are, but then again, they are thieves,” Hackworth finished with a snort.

  “All the same...?” Connie muttered, trying to make sense of what the man meant, but Malcolm’s hand fell on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

  “I’ll clarify this for you later,” he whispered, leaning down and breathing the words in her ear. “Move on.”

  Though slightly rattled, Connie managed to gather her wits.

  “Mr. Hackworth, what did you mean when you said this is all because of Detective Poole?”

  “He’s the one who got me the job with Mountbatten.”

  “Detective Poole introduced you to Samuel Mountbatten?” Malcolm exclaimed. “How did that come about?”

  “He needed a bodyguard. The earl, he likes to gamble, and when he wins he gets nervous going home. He also likes going to, uh, certain places and meeting people in areas that aren’t exactly safe for toffs like him.”

  “But, Alan, you did more than act as his bodyguard,” Malcolm insisted. “Tell us what other jobs you did for him.”

  “If someone owed him money, I’d make sure they coughed up. I swear, until all this stuff happened, that was it. That was my job, and he paid me really well. When he told me I had to steal that statue from the museum I didn’t want any part of it, but I had no choice. Poole said he’d stitch me up and send me to jail if I didn’t do what Mountbatten wanted.”

  “Mr. Hackworth,” Connie said quickly, wanting to resume her questioning before Malcolm asked anything else, “you must have some idea why the Statue of Kharute was so important to Lord Mountbatten, and I warn you, think carefully before you deny it! The future of your family rests on your answer, and I’ll know if you’re lying. I have a woman’s intuition. No doubt your wife has demonstrated her sixth sense many times.”

  Hackworth dropped his head in his hands and let out a long, low groan.

/>   Connie almost smiled.

  She’d been right.

  The man knew why Samuel Mountbatten had been so desperate to find the ancient artifact he’d killed her parents.

  “If you want me to protect your wife and child,” she said gravely, lowering her voice and leaning forward in her chair, “you’ll tell me everything. What you heard, what you saw, what you suspect, everything.”

  “God rest my soul,” he muttered, dropping his hands and staring at the floor. “I’ll tell you, but I’ll die for it. Once this is out they’ll know I told you, and they’ll get to me wherever I end up. They have people everywhere. Powerful people.”

  “Good heavens, what on earth are you going on about?” Connie said impatiently. “Just tell me.”

  “Mr. Mead?” Hackworth said solemnly, raising his head and looking past Connie. “You understand...?”

  “Ah, yes, I see,” Malcolm replied with a nod. “Connie, is there anything else you need to ask?”

  “Why?”

  “Alan is going to give me the information, but he wants to tell me without you in the room. He’s concerned it might upset you.”

  “Upset me? You’re not serious? For goodness’ sake, I’m not a child. I lived on those filthy streets for weeks. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of a woman who helped me, I probably wouldn’t have survived. Believe me, after everything I’ve seen and heard, rest assured you cannot shock my sensibilities. Speak up, Mr. Hackworth. I’m not going anywhere!”

  “Go ahead, Alan,” Malcolm said with a resigned sigh. “She needs to hear it from you.”

  * * *

  Though Malcolm was furious with Connie for not consulting with him before slipping past him into the secret room, he understood why she’d done it. Her head and heart ached for answers, and she couldn’t pass up the chance to question the only man who might have them. But Malcolm knew what Hackworth was about to tell her, and it wasn’t what she was expecting to hear.

  “I’m waiting,” Connie said tersely.

  “They were... they are...” Hackworth began haltingly, “lovers.”

  His hand still resting on her shoulder, Malcolm felt her tense.

  “You must be mistaken,” she said, staring at Hackworth in wide-eyed disbelief. “The earl is married to an American woman. Roger and I were to be engaged, and even if they are... uh... like that, what does that have to do with the Statue of Kharute? You’re not making any sense.”